Lucky
by Sarah1281
Summary: Fighting by the suddenly-active portal, a twist of fate sends Stan careening into another dimension instead. Fortunately, Ford knows a little something about fixing the portal he built and it's not going to take thirty years. How do you apologize for sending someone to another dimension anyway?


Honestly, Ford's first reaction was annoyance.

His life was rapidly falling apart. Fiddleford was rapidly descending into madness and probably founded a society of dangerous memory erasers (as if that would keep anyone safe) and it was all his fault. Bill was using him to apparently destroy the world and, like a fool, he had blindly eaten it up. The thought that he hadn't even noticed still haunted him and was making him question everything else he had just assumed before.

And Bill had seemed to find Ford's determination to stop him _cute_.

Who could he trust? Not Bill, not ever Bill. Not Fiddleford. Not anymore. Not anyone in this cursed town. Who were these people? He didn't know anything about them. How could they possibly be counted on? They didn't even acknowledge what a strange town this was! And Fiddleford hadn't seemed to have any problems recruiting other masked hooligans to go around mind-wiping everyone and everything. They'd even tried to get him and it would have been nice to know it wouldn't work _before_ they shot at him.

Stanley.

He had thought he could trust Stanley but God even knew why. Yes, Stanley was hundreds of miles away from Gravity Falls and the very idea of him being involved in any of this was laughable. But hadn't he proven how untrustworthy he was when he had sabotaged Ford's project years ago? If he couldn't even be counted on not to fuck up Ford's future, how could he possibly be counted on to stop the end of the world?

But he was desperate and there was no one else. Who knew? Maybe Stanley had actually grown up after all this time. Maybe he'd take the end of the world seriously. Ford's ruined future didn't affect him, perhaps, bur the end of the world sure as hell did.

But he hadn't. Maybe he just refused to see it. The charitable interpretation was that Stanley hadn't truly understood what was at stake when he had tried to burn his journal. On the one hand, it might solve the problem. On the other…it represented years of work. How could he destroy it so carelessly? And they might still need it.

But Stanley hadn't cared. He never did. With him it was all 'you need me to go away from you' and he'd started a fight.

Now his back hurt and he probably had a brand or something but he hadn't had time to examine it.

Because while his first reaction was annoyance, he had quickly been horrified as well.

Stanley had fallen through the portal.

And it could have been worse. It could have been the both of them or even just him. He hadn't so much as stuck his head through the portal and had no idea if he could even restart it from the other side. Stanley wouldn't have had any idea how to fix this.

He did.

Stanley would spend less than an hour in the portal. Ford would have likely spent his entire life.

He was scrambling to recalibrate the machine and fix the bits he and Stanley had messed up during their fight. He knew what he was doing but he had to be precise. It'd be easier if he could stop thinking of Fiddleford for two damn seconds. If that rope hadn't caught on his foot, he would have completely fallen through the portal and it'd have taken longer to get him back. Even that, what, fifteen seconds was enough and it was eating at him even now. He should have listened when Fiddleford told him to shut it down. If he had…but he hadn't.

Fiddleford had just gotten a glimpse of it for less than a minute. Stanley had been in there for about twenty.

As he reactivated the portal (it was the last time, it had to be the last time, he should even be risking this but this was _Stanley_ and he wouldn't be another ruined life strew across Ford's path), he could only hope that Stan's legendary ability to get back on his feet no matter what happened wouldn't fail them now.

The portal turned on and, for a moment, there was just the otherworldly blue glow.

Ford took a deep breath and tried not to panic. Every second the portal was activated only increased the danger and he would have to carefully examine it later. It had only been twenty minutes. Why was nothing happening? A lot could happen in twenty minutes.

Fiddleford had never been the same after _fifteen seconds_. Who knew what kind of world that was? Maybe Stan had stepped into the world and been killed? What if he was trapped and couldn't get to the portal? What if time didn't pass at the same rate? What if twenty minutes here was twenty years there? What if it was two hundred?

He couldn't leave the portal open forever but how could he possibly shut it down and strand his brother in what was sure to be a nightmare dimension when there was any chance he might still come back? Stan might have been the knucklehead who chose to start a fistfight in a clearly dangerous lab (and he had _just_ finished explaining what the portal was) but it was Ford's fault there was even a portal here for him to fall into.

How could he-

There was a figure stepping through.

The moment he was certain it was Stanley he switched the portal off. He'd be dismantling it in the morning.

Ford took a step forward, feeling uncomfortably out of his element. "Stan, I'm sor-"

"What the hell was that?" Stan interrupted.

Ford winced. "I don't know, exactly. I never went to the other side." He might have, had Fiddleford not taken that hit for him. "Another dimension."

"Yeah, well, it was a stupid dimension," Stan said flatly. "I had to punch this monster thing a million times before it let me go."

Despite everything, Ford felt a smile start to form on his face. That was so unbearably Stan.

"Yeah, I kicked its ass," Stan bragged.

"I'm sorry I knocked you into the portal."

Stan shrugged. "Yeah, I know. You were freaking out almost as much as I was when I got sucked in. Neither of us were paying attention. And hey, you brought me right back, didn't you?"

"Of course I did," Ford said. Did Stan really think he might not? "How could I not?"

"Well it's not like I'd have had any idea what to do so I guess we got lucky it was me instead of you."

"We'd have been lucky if neither of us fell through the portal."

Stan shrugged again. "I'd probably still be punching you if I hadn't."

Ford just stared at him. "You're taking this…extremely well. You fell through the portal!"

"And then you saved me," he said as if that were all that mattered.

"But-"

"Geez, Ford, do you want me to be mad at you?" Stan asked, rolling his eyes. "Besides, I kind of don't want another fistfight after what happened last time and after I just took down that monster."

"No," Ford said, looking down. "Of course I don't. But I feel like you should be."

"Of course you do," Stan said but he sounded fond. "Everything's always your responsibility, Pointdexter."

Ford swallowed and looked up again. "It is when I made the portal and brought you to it."

"You didn't mean for me to fall in," Stan said. "And that's not just on you. You did bring me back on purpose. And it doesn't matter if anyone would have done the same, if they could. Doesn't change that you did. That place was awful and you got me out."

Ford wanted to argue further, to make Stan realize that – far from thanking him – he should be blaming him. But what was the point? Once Stan's mind was made up, nothing would change it. And he had been so angry. If he wanted to be grateful, maybe Ford should just let them have this.

Stan glanced uncomfortably behind him. "Do you, uh, want to go somewhere else? I'm rather for putting some space between me and that weirdo portal."

Ford nodded. "Of course."

Honestly, he'd like to get away from the portal, too. Every time he saw it, it reminded him of how close he had come to literally inviting the apocalypse to come to call, how Fiddleford had looked when he had come out of the portal, how even now they weren't safe.

It was cold out and what had just happened, what had almost happened, made it even colder. He led Stanley up to the kitchen and put the kettle on.

Stan snorted.

"What?" Ford asked, feeling strangely self-conscious.

Stan grinned. "Nothing, just…you _would_ have a tea kettle."

Ford looked pointedly at the kettle. "Yes, I would."

"I'm just saying, you're not British or an eighty-year-old lady or something."

Ford rolled his eyes. "As usual, your understanding of culture astounds me."

"I do aim to impress," Stan said dryly. "Ford, I think I owe you an apology."

Ford was proud of himself that he thought 'for what, I'm the one who built a portal and knocked you into another dimension' before he thought of West Coast Tech. That had been a long time ago. And maybe he wasn't as over it as he thought he should be but Stan had still come the second he called.

"For what?" he asked carefully.

"I still don't understand a lot of this," Stan said, waving his arm vaguely. "But I saw enough to know that you're right that that thing's dangerous and if you say that I need to get rid of that journal then I'm going to go get rid of that journal."

Ford let out a deep breath, relieved that his brother had finally _finally_ understood what was at stake, at least a little. But then, after what he'd seen how could he not?

He still hadn't spoken to Fiddleford. His old friend hadn't bene interested in anything he had to say for some time now so while he thought Fiddleford still knew what could happen, he couldn't be sure. Whether he knew or purged the knowledge, he evidently preferred to stick his head in the sand and let Ford deal with this himself.

The kettle sounded and Ford didn't say anything until there was a cup of tea in front of him and his brother.

"Ford?" Stan asked, almost tentatively. What he was hesitating, Ford couldn't say. He had just apologized. Did he think Ford was going to throw it in his face? He remembered how skeptical he'd been when he had first heard of Gravity Falls and he had _wanted_ to believe.

"Why didn't you?" Ford asked. "Why were you so offended before?"

Stan looked down. "This was the first time I heard from you in ten years, Ford."

He wasn't wrong.

"And you showing up here was the first I'd heard from you. You didn't even confirm you were coming."

Stan shifted awkwardly in his seat and took a sip of his tea. He made a face, clearly not liking the taste. "Well, what did you expect? Things went to hell and fast, Ford. We were fine then, in the space of five minutes, you came in and accused me of sabotaging you. If the fact my duffle was already packed means anything, dad was just _looking_ for an excuse to throw me out. And, yeah, given all that, I don't expect you to have been able to change his mind. God knows Mom couldn't. But I was being thrown out on my ass with no notice, at seventeen, and you turned your back on me!"

Put like that, it did sound pretty bad. Ford didn't remember it clearly. It was all a haze of heartbroken, incredulous rage. He was so nervous but so sure of his invention. Science was always so easy and so reliable. It was always the personal element that tripped him up. Then it hadn't worked. He'd found the toffee peanut bag. He didn't remember getting home but he remembered praying that Stan would, impossibly, deny it. He hadn't. He had only started to express his frustration when his father got involved and then it all started moving too fast. He had turned away and then Stan was just no longer a part of his life.

"You ruined my chances to get into West Coast Tech."

Stan nodded. "Yeah, I did. And it was an accident and I was a dumb kid, Ford."

"As happy as I am to know that you didn't ruin my life on purpose, it doesn't change the end result," Ford said. "And just why were you 'accidentally' over by my project in the first place?"

Stan just sighed. "Oh, does it really matter? It was ten years ago. And as far as ruining your life goes, you have a PhD and some fancy research grant that lets you study all this weird stuff to your heart's content."

"At _Backupsmore_!"

"Not to take away from your grievance, but you sound like such a snob right now. I don't even have my GED. You didn't get your frigging PhD at the right university. I'm sure the grant and the thesis more than make up for it and sooner or later your university stops mattering."

"It doesn't matter that I made it work," Ford snapped. "I shouldn't have had to!"

"But you did and you know I wish it hadn't happened that way but neither of us can change that," Stan said. "And now, ten years later, do you really want to keep fighting about this? I'm sorry but I paid for my mistakes. Enough already."

The thing was that Stan's words made sense but it wasn't that easy. He had been nursing this grudge for a long time and you couldn't just logic away your feelings.

He'd tried.

"You said that, being the rejected one, it was hard for you to reach out. But, being the wronged party vis-à-vis my project, can you understand how hard it was for me to reach out to you, too? I ended up asking Mom about it and she said she didn't always know how to contact you."

"I did the best I could to stay in contact," Stan said defensively. His face softened. "But…yeah. I can see that. So that just leaves the two of us doomed to never reaching out. I, uh, actually tried. A couple times. I heard your voice and always panicked. Being rejected once is hard enough."

Ford had gotten quite a number of calls where no one was on the other line over the years. He had found it creepy. How many times had that been Stanley?

He cleared his throat. "So much was going on in my life. I nearly killed myself getting my PhD three years early. Then I came here and I haven't had a spare moment since. This has got to be, by far, the most scientifically interesting community in the United States. I barely stayed in contact with our parents and Shermy."

A strange look crossed Stan's face. "I know."

Their mother had probably told him that to reassure him. He should really call them. He hadn't _known_ Stan was still in contact with their mother but it wasn't exactly a surprise, either.

"Ten years is too long," Ford finished lamely, unable to put the burden of getting back in touch entirely on his own shoulders. Stan had betrayed him first.

"It is," Stan agreed. "And that's why I got so angry. Nothing for ten solid years. Then you sent me a postcard with just an address and a please come. And I did. I dropped everything and rushed to your side."

Ford nodded jerkily. "You did and I appreciate it. It was so unbelievably important and I could never hope to explain on a postcard. If it were even safe."

"I think I understand that now," Stan said again. "But from my perspective, I hadn't heard anything from you since the worst night of my life. Ten fucking years ago. Then you call me up to try and get rid of me? You couldn't just leave the status quo of me being gone? You had to summon me just to banish me again?"

Ford blinked, processing this. He had been so caught up in what he was running from, and objectively the end of the world was more important than literally anything not apocalyptic that had happened to Stan, that he hadn't thought how this might seem to his brother. Stanley always took everything so personally and Ford had never been the best at empathy. He _could_ empathize. It's just…he often didn't think of it.

"I didn't mean that you needed to stay away after it was over," Ford said finally.

Hope brightened Stan's eyes. "What?"

"Well, what did you think?" Ford said, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. He really hadn't thought that Stanley wouldn't have known that. But then, it had been ten years. And while realistically Stan had to realize that there was nothing he could have done to change his father's mind, not even their mother had been able to do that, Stan had called out to him in his hour of need and Ford had just turned away. It was perfectly understandable, really, and maybe that made it perfectly understandable for Stan not to be holding out much hope when it came to their relationship. And yet, maddest of all, _Stan had still come._ Just because he had asked. "I wanted you to move to the USSR and guard the journal forever?"

Stan shrugged noncommittally. "Maybe. I didn't hear you say anything about me coming back is all. I didn't hear anything about you wanting me around for any other reason than to hide your stup-to hide your journal."

"There was…" Ford trailed off and adjusted his glasses. "There wasn't time for that. But I guess I didn't realize things were so bad that you wouldn't know when I said that you were the only one I could trust that meant I wanted you back in my life. You don't go kicking the guy you trust to save the world out of your house."

Stan cleared his throat, his expression not half as stoic as he probably wanted. "You really should have started with that."

"Next time, I promise."

Stan's eyes widened in horror. "Next time? What's this about a next time?"

"Really, Stanley, it's just a figure of speech," Ford said.

"I know I've got to get that journal out of here," Stan said, still looking suspiciously at him. "Maybe I can leave it with Ma. No one'll ever find it among all her crap and we're bound to get it back sooner or later. But I hate to leave you here alone."

"It's not safe here."

Stan snorted. "Name the last time I've been safe."

"It's different."

"It's _always_ different," Stan said, unimpressed. "You know I'm coming right back here and you can't stop me, right?"

Ford sighed. He did know. "Just…promise me that you'll take my lead on the weird things here. I've been here for six years, after all. Promise me you'll never use a memory gun on yourself or let them use it on you. I'm told it's…tempting but I've seen the cost and it's just…it can't possibly be worth it. Promise me you won't give that anthropomorphic yellow pyramid Bill Cipher the time of day. Promise me, above all, that you won't make a deal with him."

Stan just stared at him. "Yeah, I'm definitely going with you should have called me earlier."

" _Stanley_."

Stan sighed. "Fine, fine. I promise. To all of them. Now I _really_ don't want to leave."

"I know," Ford said, "but you have to. I'll be fine."

Stan didn't deign to answer, just gave him a skeptical look.

"I can! I've been doing just fine."

"Define 'fine'."

"I'll manage," Ford said, trying again. "My mental well-being is much less important than the fate of the world."

"Agree to disagree," Stan said, crossing his arms.

Ford paused. "And we are seriously going to need to discuss your priorities at some point."

"Priorities, shmiorities."

"Yeah, exactly like that," Ford said. "The sooner you leave the sooner you'll be back."

Stan grabbed the journal and suddenly stood up.

"Or you can leave right this very second…"

"I'll see you in a week."

With that, he stormed towards the door.

"Goodbye, Stanley," Ford said, bemused, as he watched him go.

Stan waved over his shoulder.

Then he was gone and Ford was alone again.

The chill began to set back in but this time he had an advantage.

This time, he had someone he could trust.

All that time, all that pain and distance, there was still one constant to hang his hat on.

He knew he could trust him.


End file.
